


left with honor

by nd_mindoir



Series: postum [2]
Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, F/F, Family Feels, Hurt/Comfort, post s5
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:36:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25087024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nd_mindoir/pseuds/nd_mindoir
Summary: Officially, Sameen Shaw is dead. This is the hard truth. It never really bothered her. One night, however, she wonders what her mother might think of her today. And of that weirdo lying next to her.
Relationships: Root | Samantha Groves/Sameen Shaw
Series: postum [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1816909
Comments: 6
Kudos: 112





	left with honor

**Author's Note:**

> Post S5 but slightly canon divergent from 5x09 on (everybody lives.)  
> -  
> My first story for this fandom. I hope I did Root and Shaw justice.

“What is your mom like?”

Shaw’s fingers stop their absent-minded tracing of the old scar on Root’s left shoulder and her eyes widen in the darkness of their bedroom.

Her current situation is weird enough for Shaw: she lies in bed with a clothed (barely, but still) Root on top of her and blankets over the both of them, wrapped up in each other without the promise or as aftermath of sex but just for the sake of it. Some people – not Shaw, certainly – might call it cuddling. But it is something she’s grown used to over the months. These days her annoyance is mostly for show except for the rare occasion she feels like she needs room to breathe. Room she’s always granted without complains. It would result in a night apart, the main reason for the spare bed in their guestroom. Even more rare but still happening it would be Root who requested space. The former killer for hire might be a fan of casual touches and blunt flirting, no matter who witnesses it, but sometimes the loner that thinks of humans as bad code would shine through.

So yes, she Shaw has grown used to a certain kind of closeness. But that question is something else entirely.

Their relationship has grown and changed a great deal since the ironing. In fact, it has changed so much that Shaw even admitted this thing between them to be a relationship at all. Root sported one of her crazy grins for a week after, the type with which you never know if she’s genuinely happy or plans to kill somebody in the most gruesome way. Reese only spent time with her with Shaw present as a buffer during those days and Fusco avoided the Subway altogether.

But still, even with that obstacle behind them, they didn’t talk about their pasts. Ever.

Every detail prior to them meeting that was not part of their respective files has been untouched. It was an unspoken agreement. At least, Shaw thought it was. Clearly, she’s been wrong.

“Sameen?”

Root lifts her head from where it had been tucked away in Shaw’s neck and looks down at her. Those wide eyes stare unblinking into Shaw’s as if she’d be able to read her answer in them.

“I wouldn’t know,” Shaw tilts her head to the side, away from the prying eyes. “I haven’t seen her in years.”

Officially, Shaw died 7 years ago. Long before she was actually killed by Hersh. She insisted on it. A deal struck with the ISA when they’ve recruited her during her fifth year in the USMC. She knew she was good at anything she put her mind into, excellent even, but she never expected to last long in that line of work. And when it finally happened, she didn’t want her death to be swept under the rug to hide some covert operation. She wanted to go out like a soldier, an honorable death in the line of duty instead of some mysterious disappearance or worse. For the sake of her mother if nothing else. And the ISA was more than happy to oblige. Makes the whole _under-the-rug-sweeping_ a lot easier after all. The old Sameen died, and Agent Shaw was born.

“What do you remember from before, then?”

“Root,” Shaw sighs. “What’s with the questions?”

She doesn’t expect an answer, isn’t even sure she wants one. Root places her face back into the crook of where Shaw’s neck meets her shoulder. The soft breaths tickle her skin. She welcomes the silence that follows and figures she might as well close her eyes and attempt to fall asleep.

But then, almost full five minutes later, Root’s whisper cuts through the quiet.

“It’s the anniversary of my mom’s death.”

Shaw’s eyes snap back open, but otherwise she remains rigid. Root’s breathing hasn’t changed, her voice didn’t sound pained, she just stated a fact and Shaw is not sure what to do with it. What is she supposed to say? Or should she just pretend she’s fallen asleep? From everything she’s known about Root she figured she has never been close to her mother. And she doesn’t seem particular bothered by the anniversary that would cause melancholy in most people. But it did bring up the topic of Shaw’s family.

She groans softly. This is why they avoid their pasts.

“Well, what was your mom like?”

It might be childish to throw the question back at Root, but it’s only fair since she brought it up in the first place. Again, she doesn’t expect an answer, but she gets one almost immediately in the form of a small shrug.

“Sick or drunk most of the time but doing her best. Pushing me to be my best, too.”

Shaw merely acknowledges it with a noncommittal grunt. It isn’t really new information, but it is more than Root ever said about her childhood.

Still, it does make her think of her own mother and what she was like. Unasked memories come to the forefront of her mind.

Arms wrapped tightly around a ten-year-old when she arrived at the hospital. Tears in her eyes stricken with grief for a dead husband but also relief because at least her daughter survived the crash. Followed by a fit of rage _no, there is nothing wrong with my child_.

A lunchbox for a thirteen-year-old, prepared like every morning and put down on the kitchen counter before she headed off to work. A post-it sticking to it, the words always the same; _have a great day at school, love you_.

Fuming anger when a twenty-two-year-old was fired for not having enough compassion. Screams and shouts of _you’re brilliant_ , _you save lives_ and _just because you’re not like them_ being audible in the whole neighborhood. Fury burning brighter than in the former resident.

Red eyes and tear-streaked cheeks when a soldier of the honor guard steps forwards to hand her the folded flag at the funeral for a twenty-six-year-old. Pretending to not hear a man sigh in the back _with how that girl was, it may be better this way._

“It was hard for her, but she cared. Maybe too much,” her voice cracks a bit at those words, barely, but enough for Root to shift once more and frown down at her.

“Do you miss her?”

Shaw mulls over the question. The honest truth is, she doesn’t know, is not sure what it feels like to miss somebody. She never really longed for another person in any way. The only time she even came close to it was during her time as Samaritan’s captive. And those 9 months have their very own set of complicated feelings for Shaw.

However, one thing she’s certain of, is that she hates the way she left her mother thinking she died after everything the woman had to go through already.

“Maybe,” she eventually answers.

“You know, you could just tell her you’re alive.”

“There’s a reason I faked my death, Root.”

“I get that, but we’re safe now.”

“Yeah, right,” Shaw snorts.

“The ISA already killed you and it didn’t stick. And Samaritan is gone.”

Root does have a point, but hot anger already boils inside of her. It’s an easy feeling. Way more familiar than the soul searching they’re conducting right now. She pushes Root off and shoves her roughly to the side before she sits up in the bed. The blanket pools around her as she turns to face her.

“Should I just ring the doorbell? _Hey maman, I’m not dead, you can stop grieving now?_ ”

“Why not?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Shaw rolls her eyes.

Once more silence dominates the room, but this time it’s not the content feeling Shaw has whenever it is just them co-existing in the same space. It’s heavy and laden with unspoken things. A year ago, she would’ve run away already. She doesn’t know what to do or what Root wants to hear. But at least she knows she wants to stay.

“Let’s just sleep,” Shaw sighs.

She lies back down onto the bed. She can feel those hazel eyes watching her still and when Root doesn’t roll back on top of her or even touch her, Shaw turns and hesitantly reaches out with a hand to rest it on Root’s hip. It doesn’t take long for Root to pull at the arm until it’s wrapped firmly around her.

“Do you think she’d like me?”

Shaw snorts and decides not to dignify that with an answer.

However, she cannot stop thinking of what exactly her mother would say about her choice of partner in life and crime.

.oOo.

About a month after that night, Shaw parks her rental car near a driveway of a two-story house in a small town in Pennsylvania.

“Can you handle a day or two without us?” She had asked Reese.

He stared down at her from where he’s been leaning against the subway’s car. Shaw didn’t return the gaze, instead she sat with Bear in his doggy bed, his head in her lap, and scratched his soft neck. From inside the car she heard Root furiously type away on a keyboard and mutter either to herself or her god along the way.

“Of course,” Reese finally answered, then after a moment: “Anything I should know about?”

“No,” she didn’t say more, and Reese didn’t pry further.

Now, as she steps out of the car and stares up at the house, she isn’t sure if this was such a good idea after all. The building hasn’t changed that much. The paint is chipped at a few places and the garden is overrun by more weed than she remembers, but otherwise it’s the same house.

“We can still go back.”

The voice is small, unsure, so much unlike Root that it shakes Shaw out of her thoughts. She clears her throat and looks over to the taller woman. Her face is plain, concern hidden away, but Shaw knows it’s there. She decides to ignore it.

She wasn’t sure if she should bring Root in the first place. But the more she thought about it, the more she realized one important thing; she couldn’t do it on her own. She knows, had she come alone, she’d turn away right now and never look back.

“No,” she breathes, then nods determined. “No, you were right. She deserves to know I’m alive.”

Without more hesitation, she steps forward and walks up the short way to the front door. She reads the plate next to the doorbell and stops again. Her mother never removed her name. Shaw hadn’t even lived here anymore when she died, yet _Sameen_ is still engraved into the metal, right next to her mother.

A warm hand settles onto her shoulder and it’s the last push Shaw needs to finally press the bell.

“One second,” a voice shouts from within the house.

She feels like she’s punched in the gut, all air leaves her body. A minute ago, she couldn’t have possibly recollected what her mother sounds like. The sound of someone’s voice is the first thing you forget, it doesn’t even take a year, but now it’s back in her head. Swirling and jumping back and forth.

When the door finally opens, it’s like staring into the past and the future at the same time. People always told Shaw that she looks just like her mother, and that hasn’t changed much. The only difference is that they’ve both grown older and her mother is slightly shorter than her. Probably the only woman she knows who is.

Long graying hair cascades down her shoulders and dark eyes are blown wide in shock. She has her hands clasped over her mouth and tears well up as she chokes down a sob.

“Hello maman.”

Shaw sees the slap coming from a mile away, but she lets the open palm hit her face without resistance. Her head snaps to the side by the force of it (she’s kind of proud of her mother for the strength put into it) and out of the corner of her eye she sees Root flinch at the impact. But before any of them can process the physical attack in any way, Shaw has arms wrapped around her body. She instantly goes rigid in the tight embrace. Her mother never hugged her, not even when she was still a child, apart from that one time in the hospital. She always respected that Shaw didn’t like being touched. But now she can’t seem to let go. And Shaw can’t bring herself to push her away.

A few minutes of sobbing and hushed whispers in a mixture of Farsi and English later, Root and Shaw have been invited into the house. Her mother is in the kitchen, while Shaw sits at the table inside the living room and Root has been drawn towards the fireplace.

On its mantel the burial flag of Shaw’s funeral rests, neatly folded and tucked away in a wooden display. It’s flanked by two pictures, both showing soldiers in their dress blues.

Root looks at the one to the right first and turns to Shaw with a small smile. “Your father?”

She only nods in answer. For as long as Shaw lived in this house, that picture was the only thing allowed on the mantelpiece and never to be moved. That seemed to have changed when she died as well.

As if reading her thoughts, Root proceeds to the other picture and carefully takes it off the mantel. Shaw flinches, already hearing her mother throwing a for touching the sacred furniture. But she doesn’t say anything when Root spins around, picture still in her hands. Her small smile turns flirtatious after a few seconds.

“It’s a shame you’re not a marine anymore. You’re hot in that uniform.”

“You have a thing for uniforms?” Shaw raises an eyebrow.

Root licks her lips as she roams Shaw’s body with her eyes completely unabashed.

“I have a thing for you, sweetie. The uniform is merely a bonus.”

Shaw snorts and gets up from the chair to walk over the short distance. She pulls the picture out of Root’s hands and looks at it for a moment, a younger version of herself but just as stoic. Her eyes focus on the black ribbon in the corner for a second too long. She sighs and puts it back where it belongs.

“Better not touch it. Maman doesn’t like anybody messing with the mantel.”

This all seems so unreal, fake. Being here, having those memories flooding her mind. As if it cannot be, like someone planted it. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. This train of thought is a dangerous road, one she’s taken fewer and fewer. But sometimes it’ still there; the doubt. She touches the skin behind her left ear and finds no scar. No, this is insane. Samaritan wouldn’t know this. It couldn’t. She doesn’t open her eyes until Root’s fingers brush against her wrist and carefully pull the hand away from her own neck.

“You’re safe, Sameen.”

When she looks back at Root, she sees that the smile has turned genuine as hazel eyes stare down at her. Shaw frowns up at her.

“What?”

“Four alarm fire, remember?”

Root tucks a loose strand behind Shaw’s ear and bends down to kiss her. It’s nothing much, only a peck on her lips, a show of affection. She doesn’t know how to respond, but she is weirdly thankful for it. For the words as well. A reminder that this is real. That Samaritan couldn’t have possibly come up with this, because it could never read her memories, only react to her actions. And she didn’t indicate any of this. She follows Root back to the table wordlessly and sits down, her own small smile in place.

Only then does she notice her mother standing in the doorway to the kitchen. Eyes firmly set on the two of them, a tray with three mugs and a teapot in her shaking hands.

How much has she seen and heard just then? It’s not that she’s afraid of her finding out that she’s with a woman, she never hid her bisexuality from her. But this is the first time she witnessed anybody showing some kind of affection towards Shaw without a repulsed reaction.

When the shaking grows more intense and the dishes clatter against each other, Shaw rushes to her feet and over to her mother. She carefully pries the tray out of her hands and sets it down on the table. She pours the tea into the three cups and sets one down in front of each of them, before sitting back down.

Her mother’s eyes are still wide in shock and rimmed red, but she washed the dried tears off her cheek.

“You’re really alive.”

“Yes.”

“And you have been this whole time.”

Shaw takes a deep breath before nodding. “Yes.”

“I always hoped, but I never thought,” she trails off and averts her eyes.

When Shaw follows the line of sight her gaze settles back on the mantelpiece and she flinches.

“I’m so sorry, maman.”

Her mother shakes her head and turns back to the pair. She gives them a sad smile.

“It’s okay,” a blunt lie if Shaw ever heard one. “You’re here now. That’s what matters.”

She reaches out with one hand but hesitates before touching Shaw. Shaw looks down at their fingers, and gently moves her own forward, allowing, maybe even encouraging her mother to wrap hers around them.

“So,” she says when they pull apart again. “Who’s your friend?”

Shaw’s head snaps to her right side where Root has been watching their interaction quietly. Now though, the taller woman looks like a deer caught in headlights. She probably didn’t expect to be put on the forefront of their conversation quite this bluntly.

Shaw smirks, relishing the fact that for once it is Root who’s at a loss of what to do or say.

“I,” Root clears her throat and finally starts to look like her usual self again. “Samantha Groves.”

Shaw’s a bit surprised by her choice to introduce herself by her given name. She always flinched whenever Finch called her Miss Groves and not a single one of her infinite identities has Samantha as its name.

“Another Sam?” Her mother chuckles.

“She goes by Root, though,” Shaw adds, because hearing her being called Sam is beyond weird.

“Root? That’s,” she pauses and for a moment Shaw prepares herself to fight for Root’s name like she often does. But her mother must’ve seen the tension on her face. “Quite the unique name.”

“Well, I am quite the unique woman.”

Shaw fears that her eyes may be stuck in a permanent eye-roll one of these days.

“You must be, if you managed to tame Sameen.”

“Maman!”

“Oh, hush. I love you, but we both know you’re not exactly an easy person to deal with.”

Shaw crosses her arms and leans back in her chair, grumbling as she looks away from the other woman. She hears Root trying, and failing, to stifle a chuckle. A hand brushes along her thigh in a reassuring way, but right now it only irritates her, especially when it moves higher than appropriate. She bats the hand away and glares at its owner. Root smiles innocently back at her, not saying a word.

With both of them staring at her, affection and love shining in their eyes, Shaw begins to feel constricted. She can barely handle one person doing it. Two at the same time? No, that’s just too much. She shifts uncomfortably in her chair and tries to distract herself with drinking some of the tea.

It doesn’t work. Especially when she looks back up and sees her mother’s eyes shifting towards concern.

“I need some air,” she says and leaves.

It might not be the most gallant thing to leave Root alone with her mother who thought her dead for seven years, but she fears if she doesn’t go now, she’ll explode with frustration in a way none of them deserve.

Instead of walking out the front door or into the garden, she moves up the stairs though. Not much has changed inside the house either, she realizes. The hallway is littered with photographs from her childhood, and some, albeit a lot fewer, from her teenage years and even her early twenties. Here and there a family picture or one of her father is hidden away between them.

She looks at the recollection of her life and tries to feel anything but the calm emptiness when she stares at the wall. It doesn’t work. Her parents have always been the exception to her inability to care, albeit only in a very small way. But when she is filled with all these memories, she still feels nothing at all.

It irritates her even more and she shakes her head angrily as she moves past the pictures and towards the door that would lead to her room. She rests her hand on the handle but doesn’t push it open.

When she was still alive, her mother never changed it. For when she comes visit, she’d tell her. Not that she really did. She moved back in after getting her doctor’s degree because she managed to get into a residency program close by. But when they kicked her out and she joined the marines instead, she moved out for good, only coming back for a day or two every few months if her orders would allow it.

And then she died.

No, whatever lies behind that door, is not her business to know, she decides. She turns back and walks down the stairs. Only slightly calmer than before, but it has to be enough. She’s just about to round the corner when she hears soft voices coming from the living room. She frowns, unsure of what to do. She doesn’t want to eavesdrop on Root and her mother, but she’s not sure if she should disrupt their conversation either. When she realizes what they’re talking about, however, she doesn’t wait and rushes back into the room.

“There you are, sweetie,” Root is the first to see her, a huge grin on her face. “I’ve just told your mom how we met.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

She suddenly feels the taser in her neck and the hot air emitted from the iron breathing against her skin. She recalls how she hunted her for weeks across the whole country until she finally found her and shot her inside an empty warehouse. Rook looked nothing like she does now. Instead she was broken because she has just found and lost her god in a span of 24 hours. Finch committed her to a psychiatric facility and Shaw didn’t care. All she wanted was to end her.

It makes her sick thinking about that.

“Don’t worry, I kept it PG.”

“Uh-huh.”

She wonders how exactly that story sounds like in a PG version. But instead of asking she merely sits back down next to Root and faces her smiling mother.

“So anyway,” Root continues her story. “It was then that our companies merged, and we ended up working together.”

“I can’t picture she liked that,” her mother chuckled.

“Oh, she hated it, I’m sure. But I’d like to think I’ve grown on her.”

“Sure, like a fungus,” Shaw mutters under her breath, earning a scolding look from her mother.

“And when did you get together?”

“Not for a while,” Root shrugs. “It really depends on from when you count, I guess.”

“Alright, no need for more details,” Shaw interrupts Root before she can say anything more.

She’s sure the other woman would launch into a retelling of their whole four year long history otherwise and she doesn’t want her mother to know all of that, even without the part of two warring AIs thrown into it.

“I’m just glad I bonded with the dog. I’m sure Sameen would’ve never let me in if Bear hadn’t accepted me.”

“You have a dog named Bear?” Her mother directs the question at Shaw who only groans in response.

.oOo.

“It has been lovely meeting you, Root,” her mother says.

“You too.”

Root smiles a goodbye and squeezes Shaw’s arm reassuringly before she turns and walks back to the car. Shaw on the other hand stays in the doorway rather awkwardly.

“Again, I am really-”

“Sameen,” her mother interrupts her with a sigh. “I will not pretend the last seven years haven’t been rough. And I will also not pretend having you as a daughter was ever easy.”

Shaw grimaces and looks over her shoulder at Root who seems to be caught up in her own conversation with the Machine.

“And I may not know your reasons, but I understand you had them. And I love you and know that, despite the way you are, you would never intentionally hurt me.”

Shaw feels two hands cupping her face, forcing her to look back to her mother.

“Just visit me some time, okay? Or call.”

“Okay,” Shaw whispers.

“And don’t wait another seven years.”

“I won’t,” she promises.

“And hold onto that girl of yours. She’s special, I can tell.”

Shaw agrees inwardly but rolls her eyes just for show.

After a bit of hesitation, her mother pulls her closer and presses a soft kiss against her forehead.

“I am proud of you, Sameen.”

**Author's Note:**

> ask me anything on [tumblr](https://nd-mindoir.tumblr.com/)


End file.
